The Demise of Sanity
by Counterfeit God
Summary: AU. WWII/pre-CC universe. KadajxSephiroth. Kadaj has never been very good at playing by the rules, but he will do whatever needs to be done if it means getting to meet the great General Sephiroth. Gift fic for Dea Noctis.
1. It's Gonna Break You, Son

**A/N: This story is almost PWP, however I tried to add a semblance of a plot and a little bit of background information. It should be noted that it does get fairly violent/graphic. There isn't a whole lot of reference to the Nazis; it's mostly in passing. I did use a few German terms, which should be understandable in the context of the story. Some of it is purposefully incorrect, and some of the uniforms described are from different years/sects. Any other ignorance is entirely my own. And, despite this story being pre-CC, Sephiroth is more or less post-insanity. Kadaj's age during that time period is also ignored. Dea Noctis asked for SephirothxKadaj with some sort of WWII background involving the Hitler Youth. I absolutely would not have been able to do this story without her kind encouragement and ideas. I hope it's everything you wanted! **

* * *

It was first light. The barracks smelled of sweat and dirty clothes. An ugly light from an old bulb glared down on their heads as they quickly began to dress in the coolness of early morning. It was the first day of what they had been told would be nothing short of hell. They seemed to hold a collective breath, barely speaking except in harsh whispers from dry, gritty throats. Kadaj did not speak at all, perfectly content to ignore his fellows. Their nervous chatter made him grind his teeth irritably as he quickly did up his bed with a precision that was the consequence of daily practice. He was not concerned for what was to come. He knew he would fare well regardless of what tests they were put to, mental or physical. The only aspect of his training he lacked confidence in was his ability to please the great General. For that very reason, he had lost sleep.

The night had been drafty and he had found himself shifting in the scratchy cotton sheets, playing in his mind over and over their disastrous first meeting. He would have done anything to change the outcome of that encounter; the humiliation almost made him lose his calm. He could feel the prickles of humiliation creep up the back of his neck, accompanied by a misplaced fear. He shook his head, defiant against the thoughts that were crumbling his once very solid resolve. He had a lot to do, and dwelling on what could have happened was both futile and harmful. Kadaj knew he needed to have his mind clear of any alien thoughts of failure or uncertainty. He had never been weak before, and he wasn't going to start. He checked one of the filthy, scratched mirrors, raising an eyebrow at his own reflection.

They bore a resemblance to one another that could not be denied. His silver hair was slightly past his shoulders, having grown out during the past summer. It fell in soft layers, uneven due to lack of maintenance. His eyes were the same sea-green as the General's, the iris flecked with yellow, making them appear more animal than human. His pupils were mere slits, gone wide in the low light. He adjusted his uniform, smoothing out imagined wrinkles. A single Sig Rune marked his sleeve. He eyed it with a frown, fingers lightly tracing over the design, then up to the blue Oberbann sewn into the shoulder of his jacket. They had been instructed to dress their best, even wearing the small, billed caps decorated with silken ropes that were generally only used for special occasions. He yanked his lapels, taking a breath, his eyes losing focus.

"Never seem to get tired of staring at your reflection, do you?"

Kadaj's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly.

"At least I have something worth looking at," he responded icily, turning to face his antagonist. "I wouldn't want to have to stare at your face every morning."

"You've got a mouth on you. That's alright, I'm sure you won't last the week," the older boy smirked, rows of uneven, yellowed teeth making Kadaj grimace inwardly in distaste.

They had been thrown together like cattle to be herded, with no concern over age or social status. The older boys were expected to be tougher on the younger ones. The weak were not allowed in a den of wolves, that much Kadaj knew. He expected to be bullied and mistreated, if the night previous been any indication. They had nothing to do but survive, and that often meant tearing at those with perceived weaknesses. Kadaj's thin frame and androgynous looks might have gone over well in a more civilized setting, however when he was in a group of riled teenage boys it became nothing more than a troublesome burden. He let the insult slide over his shoulders effortlessly, using his hardened personality to his advantage. He wasn't going to be bothered by schoolboy taunts. He brushed past the older boy, eyes flicking to the name badge inconspicuously.

He'd remember the name.

* * *

"Line up, let's go."

Their instructor watched them with a look that bordered on disgust, even as they managed to arrange themselves in alphabetical order. He wore a dark, hunter green uniform, a stark contrast to the tan that Kadaj wore. A thin patch on the left arm of the coat beneath the traditional Swastika band declared his title, "Ordensburgen", along with several other patches showing his ascent through the ranks. He too wore a hat like the boys did-the same officer's cap with gold accents and a proud iron eagle with a small Swastika in its clutches-though his was more ornate. The man's eyes were like blue chunks of ice, cold and uncompromising and depthless. A long, jagged scar lined his jaw all the way to his temple where it disappeared into his somewhat receded hairline. He had a cropped haircut that made his blond hair seem darker than it was, and his uniform was perfectly pressed, as though he'd been made on an assembly line. His boots shone brilliantly, even in the soft light of morning.

"I'm your new drill sergeant. Name's Echols, and I don't give a shit who you are."

He grinned broadly, to emphasize his point. He had small, jagged teeth, and when his thin lips crinkled and pulled back, he looked even more sinister than ever.

"You're here because you think you're good enough. Well, I have news for you: you aren't. I want you to look first to your left, then to your right. That's right, take a good look."

Echol's seemed pleased with himself, enjoying his private joke. His grin was wetter than ever, saliva gleaming on his pointed, fang-like teeth.

The boys did as they were told, warily taking in those beside them. Kadaj did not bother to look, instead he blankly stared ahead, ignoring the curious glances being shot in his direction. They most definitely remembered him from yesterday, he noted in annoyance. His nostrils flared slightly as he clenched his hand in one of his long sleeves. One thing he couldn't stand was being stared at like he was a specimen rather than a human being. He had made an impression because of his actions, whether he had meant to or not. Kadaj had never been one to hold back his opinion or even his fist.

"Out of all of you, only one of the pricks you're looking at-or you, if you're lucky-is gonna be good enough to stay. Two out of three fail this course. There's a trench on the edge of the property if you'd like to look at your fellow failures. Let's get fucking started." He spit on the ground with relish, icy eyes glinting madly.

* * *

Kadaj ran much better than most, though he wouldn't let them know it, not just yet, anyway. He kept pace with the leader, always a mere two steps behind. It was good to keep your enemies close-that had been proven-and he only smiled secretively as he dogged the steps of the older boy from earlier. His name was Evan Black, and as far as Kadaj was concerned, that boy was never going make it through the week-long course, even if it took sabotage. Black would end up in the trench Echol's spoke of, and if Kadaj was smart enough, it wouldn't even be by his own hands.

"Come on you pieces of shit, move! Fucking Wutai whores!"

Echols was pounding into the dirt like a lion on the heels of a gazelle, barking orders and taunts at them as he trailed the slower boys of the group. Though they had all passed many fitness tests before attending the camp, some of the boys had already begun to lag behind, not used to the endurance required of anything over a few miles. They were nearing the fifteen mile mark and it was beginning to rain. They had five more miles to go, and though it did not take much effort for Kadaj because of his physical aptitude, even his enemy was having trouble keeping the breakneck pace. Echols seemed to be herding them from behind, going faster and faster, making their legs burn and their lungs struggle to endure.

One of the boys had finally succumbed to his exhaustion, slowing to a walk. It didn't take Echols long to turn around to pursue his newfound victim. The boy was breathing in short gasps, his cheeks ruddy from exertion. He was half bent over himself, sweaty hands on his thighs as he walked. His chest rose and fell erratically, and he bowed his head in shame as his instructor approached him. Some of the boys who were still forging ahead looked over their shoulders at the spectacle, running into one another in their bid to see how their classmate would be punished. Kadaj paid none of it any mind, listening only to his footfalls, ignoring the cruel words whispered breathily by his companions, who were sneering at the boy's expense.

He could clearly hear the sound of metal striking flesh. There was an agonized shriek that tore through the air, heard even above the rain which had begun to fall thickly. Another echoing 'ping' as a baton found its mark. He could hear Echols curse, and the boy who had been unwise enough to fall behind, scream with the abandon of someone badly wounded. Even then, he did not look back, though the sound was so familiar it took nearly all his willpower not to flinch in remembrance. How many times had he himself made that sound? How many times had he heard others do the same?

He quickened his pace even more, finally closing in on Black with purpose. Echols was far back; he toyed with the idea of doing something unsavory to the older boy in front of him. Images, both gruesome and violent, flashed in his mind's eye, like a film reel spliced with random bursts of murder. He'd see the dirt, then he'd picture Black all bloody and bruised, curled in a fetal position. He knew it wasn't normal, the thoughts he had, even amongst people who fought others for a living. He felt his pulse begin to race at the thrill of his internal disobedience. The air and rain suddenly felt cold on his face as a chilled sweat descended on him. It was the result of both fear and desire. Fear because he knew he had gone too far already; he was lucky he had not been discharged from the camp his very first day, and desire because somehow murder and brutality were in his very nature.

He shook his head, flinging his wet hair out of his eyes, willing himself to be controlled. It wasn't as though he needed anymore trouble, no matter how tempting the thought was. His impulsiveness had always caused him problems. He found it hard to deny himself the things he wanted. He wondered at times, why anyone thought there was a point to doing such a thing. He took a deep breath, then with a steely resolve borne of his shredded self-control, he forced his pace to quicken. The ground was wet, causing mud to cling to his shined patent boots and onto his once-clean beige slacks, and onto Black who was suddenly beside him. The rain was already soaking through his clothes, and had he not been running with such abandon, he might have shivered in the coolness of the morning. They had left their hats behind, and he was grateful, for it would have been nothing but a soggy mess, and possibly lost to the muddy ground.

His senses told him that Black was several paces behind, and his breathing was too heavy for him to be able to produce another surge of energy to compromise Kadaj's postion at the front of the pack. Kadaj had not finished, but he knew he had already won.

By the time the entire group was finished, five of the original twenty-five had fallen prey to the rage of their willful drill instructor. When Echols finally approached the halted group, his dark uniform was stained with what Kadaj easily deduced was blood, though it was hard to see the extent of how much in the rain. The five boys were missing too, he noted, and Echols had a strange gleam in his eyes that made Kadaj stiffen defensively like an animal cornered. Kadaj had a good idea of what had become of them, though he would not voice his opinion. He merely watched the instructor with suspicion, making sure to stay at arm's length.

"Who finished first?" Echols growled, eyeing the exhausted boys, most of which were doubled over or clutching at their sides, futilely attempting to catch their breath.

There was no response for a moment, just the sound of the rain pattering on the ground and uneven breaths.

Black looked as though he was about to respond, but Kadaj beat him to it, smiling slightly at his newfound enemy, while directing his words at the instructor. "Me, sir."

"Oh?" Echols seemed to take the young man in for the first time, stopping when his eyes wandered to the tangled silver hair. "You don't look like much of a runner."

Echols's gaze was heavy with withheld judgment. His eyes were sharp and intelligent, watchful and secretive, as though he knew something the boy didn't and he'd find it just by looking.

"Nothing is what it seems," Kadaj responded, not once avoiding the stern man's gaze. Authority had never frightened him, and he didn't like the way Echols's was blatantly sizing him up.

"Did I ask for a fucking reply, boy?" Echols spat angrily, approaching quickly.

Kadaj bristled, but stood his ground. Suddenly the man's sun-damaged face was inches from his own, breathing a sick, animalistic breath that stunk of something long ago rotted into his face, offending his sensitive nose. Much to his credit, Kadaj refused to acknowledge his discomfort, feet firmly panted in the squashy, uneven ground. He even dared to bring his face closer to the older man's, plainly displaying his contempt and lack of fear.

"No, but I thought I'd give one," he answered with a smirk.

Kadaj was backhanded so hard he staggered, but did not fall to the ground. His eyes burned and his cheek and jaw stung, reddening almost instantly. He could not seem to resist the urge to speak out; he had never been very good at keeping himself in check, even when he made an effort of it. He had no weapon but his own confidence, but even that could not sway him to see what others called reason. To Kadaj, a fight was a fight and there was no reasoning about it.

"For a drill sergeant, you don't hit very hard," Kadaj intoned darkly, popping his jaw audibly.

Kadaj's arrogant smile matched his tone, and his pupils had narrowed to little more than black slashes over green irises.

The other boys had already backed away from the escalating scene, though most looked more than a little amused, and snickered like a pack of hyenas descending on a downed animal. None, however, had the gall to say or do anything that might implicate them. They were first and foremost survivors, and survivors had no reason to become involved in something that would likely get them killed.

The first swing of the baton missed. Echols was predictable, throwing far too much effort into the motion and overextending himself. Kadaj was not yet as physically strong as some of the others, but he was more than twice as fast. He watched each of the actions, studying the way the sergeant moved, and the angle of his swings and the power behind them. Kadaj backed easily away from him, ducking and dodging each of the practiced blows. It seemed to only increase the instructor's frustration and rage.

It didn't take long before the swings became more frantic, and Echols practically snarled in his fury. Just as Kadaj was beginning to think he had been foolish to mind the imbecile, he slipped in the slick mud, causing him to lean more to the right as he staggered, putting him directly in the path of the raging instructor. The blow was enough to make his head erupt in a fiery agony instantaneously. He could feel the crunch of his skull as the metal baton made contact-could hear it in his ears-which rang to the point of deafness.

His fall was hard and uncalculated. He landed on his side, just in time for Echols to land another strike to his abdomen. Kadaj had the foresight to roll away from the next blow, though the move left him sprawled out in the mud and vulnerable. He didn't know if he could stand. His vision was blurring around the edges and the pain was excruciating. He could hardly think. His head felt strangely light and unattached, but he had spent his young, short life being beat on and nearly killed, and no matter what the pain, an insane sense of self-preservation allowed him to move into a crouch.

Everything in him was screaming he'd made a mistake, that he'd calculated wrong. Echols was much more than he seemed-_the irony_, Kadaj thought humorlessly-and there was little chance of escaping his wrath without a proper weapon to defend himself from the bone-shattering blows. Kadaj's fingers dug deep into the mud, the grit getting under his fingernails. It felt like minutes had passed, but it had only been seconds when the drill sergeant made to hit him again. This time, however, Kadaj was ready for him, even as his vision darkened considerably. With some preserved reservoir of anger, Kadaj swung at the older man, a jagged, porous lava rock in his hand. He hit the blond man in the temple, with enough force to send the man tumbling to the ground in pain and confusion.

Kadaj willed himself to stand. He felt weak and light-headed. His vision was almost useless and he felt his consciousness closing in on him. But he didn't have long; Echols was likely made of tough stock and would get up. His mind raced for a solution, but only one came to mind. He knew he was in no condition to fight, and though he was loathe to run, he feared death if he did not. If he could only get hold of a sword or gun…

The young man forced himself upright, groaning in pain. The scenery spun around his head, making his stomach lurch, while the rain cascading down his face felt both soothing and painful. The others had been smart enough to continue to stay back, wishing no part in the matter. Kadaj cursed himself for being so rash, but he knew he would never have behaved differently. It was not in him to obey those he had little or no respect for. Echols appeared to be nothing more than a full-grown bully, which didn't sit well with him. There was only one man he would blindly obey, and because of his actions he was unlikely to get a warm welcome anytime in the future. The thought pained him.

His instincts told him to flee, and for a moment he deeply considered it. Blood was running down his cheek, catching on the corner of his mouth. It was cold from the air, and copperish as he inadvertently licked at his dry lips. He held a hand to the gash on his head, making his vision swim dangerously. With a snarl, he rose fully to his feet, swaying in disorientation. He'd been hit hard, hard enough that there was definitely extensive damage. He still didn't know how he hadn't passed out from such a harsh hit to the head. But he had always been different, and it was one of the rare moments where it came as an advantage. People might hate him and look down on him, but he took pride in the fact that they would never be on the same level physically. He could live through things they could scarcely imagine; he had proven that to himself already. He looked small and weak, but that belied the spirit inside that never seemed to just lay down and die like people so often wanted.

He stood immobile, against all the warnings in his mind. He would not run. He may have been cruel and a liar, but the one thing he was not was a coward. The thought of being dragged off the campus as a sniveling, craven troublemaker in front of the very man he had sworn to impress, hurt him greatly. It was hardly any better to do what he was considering doing, but at least it wasn't the weaker choice.

He cared not about Echols's physical condition; the man could die for all he cared. But when he thought of the General, his mind began to fill with a sudden panic.

All of his life he had wanted more than anything to be under the General Sephiroth's command. He had fought tooth and nail to prove himself better than his comrades. He knew he was exceptional in some ways, and that if he worked at it hard enough, he would one day meet his idol directly. He had seen the man many times in passing, heard of his great feats and had been admittedly curious about the strange resemblance they shared. It had taken four years, but finally Kadaj had been chosen for the Jugendbund on scholarship. He had no means to pay his way, instead having to earn it. The camp was part of their initiation, were they able to survive it. Only the most physically fit and the most intelligent would be officiated into the group. He had nearly been refused because of his constant disobedience, and had only been allowed to come to the camp on the condition that he would be on his best behavior. Just hours after arriving he had gotten into a fight with one of the other boys.

The dispute ended with Kadaj stuffing a half-eaten bread roll into his opponent's mouth as he pinned him to the cold stone floor. The rowdy group of boys cheered him on, though they had not become involved in the confrontation. He had been disgusted by their lack of courage; they had come across as nothing more than a group of squabbling omegas. They deserved pain more than anyone, he had decided then. Kadaj himself had never had a problem with conflict, as he was rarely one to run. It was not in him to back down, of that he was certain. To do so would be against everything he believed.

He watched as Echols attempted to right himself on all fours, the baton awkward in his short-fingered hands, and sloppy in the mud. Kadaj once again stood his ground, calmed by the sudden clarity of his mind. He was already going to be let go from the camp, but he would make sure that he went away with the General Sephiroth's full attention, regardless.

Each movement made his head pound, but just as Echols was about to rise, the boy landed a brutal kick to the man's stomach. The drill sergeant let out a ragged huff of pain, but swiftly grabbed for one of Kadaj's boots, catching the boy unawares. He was on his ass before he had a chance to yank himself away. Kadaj cursed, tearing off his boot in a bid to get out of the older man's iron-like grasp. The fight was slippery in the mud, and even Echols, who seemed to be less bad off than his charge, was having trouble finding traction.

There was whooping and hollering from the other boys as Kadaj managed to barely escape another punishing strike from the mud-slicked weapon. He had already made a grab for it, only to be knocked back easily. Echols, though short, was burly in comparison to Kadaj's lithe build. Kadaj had lost most of his speed due to his injury; any quick movement might put him out. He was fighting to stay upright and his vision was worsening to the point where he felt as though he was looking through a tunnel.

It was through sheer luck that he was able to land a hit on Echols. It was not as hard of punch as he would have liked, though it was good enough to disorient the instructor momentarily. Kadaj again made a move to snatch away the baton, not realizing the stupidity of his assumption through his haze. It was too late when he recognized he had come too close to the man. As his hand grazed the weapon, Echols lashed out, not half as incapacitated as he seemed, all too ready to strike at a prey that had wandered too near.

Kadaj was on the ground in seconds. Everything was fading, and even in his head-splitting agony, he fought to keep his eyes open. The fight in him was strong, but not strong enough to hold off the inevitable. His mind screamed protest, even as all the light filtered out and the sound of the relentless rain drifted away.


	2. It's Gonna Rot You Through

**A/N: Thanks to Jill and Lilly Bri who reviewed. The 'runes' mentioned in this chapter are more or less similar to materia. They'll be described a little better in a later chapter. And special thanks to Dea Noctis who is the only reason this exists. Her encouragement is amazing and I can't thank her more. If there are any errors, feel free to point them out. And constructive criticism would be awesome, even if it's to say "hey, I didn't like this part because..." . Or if you want to tell me you like something, that's great too, and I'll try to include more of whatever it is later on. This will probably only be about 6 chapters or so. **

* * *

Kadaj was unconscious on a splintered, bloody table. His wrists were manacled to a pair of filthy chains. The room was unlit except for whatever light managed to filter in through the grimy bay windows, and from the planks overhead that served as the flooring for the attic above. The air was still and stunk of mildew, with an underlying hint of what might have been decay, and the distinctive metallic scent of blood. Gore-encrusted instruments lined the walls haphazardly, hanging off of bent, rusted nails. They glinted from their places even in their unkempt state. A bloody blanket was balled up in a corner, among an assortment of rag scraps that were covered some kind of black sludge.

"He'll live," Hojo stated disinterestedly, walking to an old sink where he messily rinsed the crimson from his hands and wrists with a hurried scrubbing motion from his fingernails. "I take it you'll be needing help with the interrogation?" he questioned, his eyes glimmering cruelly, as he looked over at the other occupant of the room.

"That will not be necessary."

Disappointment and irritation were clearly evident on the older man's features, as he responded with distaste, "That's too bad."

Hojo's lips thinned as he allowed his eyes to settle on the young, frail body for just a moment too long. His gaze trailed over the battered chest, then back to the face that was an all too familiar replica of the man standing across the room. It was only due to a harsh look directed at him, that Hojo sniffed in dissatisfaction and exited the room.

Once the door had been shut and the shuffling footsteps faded away, the General allowed himself to fully take in the prone figure on the table. Blood was caked throughout his brilliant silver hair, holding it together in crunchy chunks, and it had smeared and dried down most of his pale face, stark in contrast. The head wound could have easily have been fatal, as the blow had fractured his skull. Bumps as bruises marred his skin, disappearing under his torn uniform. Kadaj was, even in such a condition, a sight to behold. Even as controlled as he was, the General found himself drawn to the features that were so innocent and slack in sleep. There was no frown, Sephiroth noted, and the boy's body was long and lean, which was apparent even under the destroyed uniform. A few hairline scars marked his chest, which could be seen through the cut-up front of his blazer and undershirt. Hojo had hacked through the boy's uniform in an effort to check him for further injuries, but Sephiroth had stopped him before he had gotten to the young man's slacks.

Hojo had little interest in his specimens sexually; he had always been more aroused by inflicting pain. Even so, Sephiroth had found himself possessive of his young charge, and the thought of anyone seeing him naked and vulnerable made something evil and jealous knot up in his abdomen. It was an entirely foreign feeling and he had been taken aback by his own feelings. He barely knew the boy, however, he was transfixed. Their resemblance to one another was uncanny. And the boy's actions had already spoken volumes. Sephiroth suspected there was something at play that he had stumbled upon purely by accident.

Their first meeting had been intriguing to say the least. Kadaj had senselessly beaten one of the other boys, and had been brought to the main office to be disciplined and possibly discharged on his very first day. Fighting was common, though more often than not it was nothing more than squabbles that resulted in a few bruised egos and maybe a black eye. Stitches had been required in this case, though it hadn't been necessary to turn to the Runes. There were occasions where it was more beneficial to certain parties for their wounds to heal naturally. It tended to make others more thoroughly aware of their actions and the consequences that would result.

Kadaj had been rebellious and unapologetic when speaking with the First Ordensburgen. Little did he know that every room of the entire encampment was observed with hidden cameras and sound equipment. Even the boy's private meeting with the First Ordensburgen was being watched by three others in a room not far from where he was sitting. Nothing went unnoticed, and for good reason. The Board valued their control above all, and prided themselves in their so-called, 'fair' decisions, even if the punishments that resulted were nothing more than barbarities-not that the General disagreed for the most part. But even he accepted that there were exceptions to those black and white lines the Board members used as a guide. Sometimes murdering the rebellious meant ridding the Jugendbund of valuable assets that simply needed a steady hand.

Sephiroth had become involved only because of a note that had been sent to him prior to the boy's arrival. In retrospect, Sephiroth acknowledged that the letter was a fluke not meant to have been given over to him, at least not willingly. He was certain the foolish messenger would be dealt with in some unsavory manner. According to the letter, Kadaj was known for being a handful. More often than not it was the disciplinary cases that made the best SS Officers. Most would serve well on the war-front. The regular ranks could be filled by the lesser of the group turnout. Sephiroth always watched closely for those who showed promise, often spending an inordinate amount of time at the boy's camps looking for the brightest and strongest. He was expected on the warfront more often than not, but he managed to find time away. Questioners were easily silenced, he had learned early in his career. He knew the value of young minds, even if his elders were too stupid to see. Fresh minds meant fresh ideas. The young, in the end, were much more keen to obey because their trust was gained more easily, where the old scorned and scoffed and more often than not had to be beaten into servitude. Though he did not tolerate disobedience, he knew that through proper respect, unquestioning obedience could be gained and kept in young and old alike. Some individuals were just more difficult to impress than others, and turning the coin for those people in particular, was something he had perfected.

One of the General's leather-clad hands drifted to the silken strands of silver that looked so out of place on the mangled, bloody tabletop. He fingered a lock of hair, frowning at the way it slipped over the shined, smooth texture of his glove. He removed his right glove with little ceremony, before one of his spindled fingers trailed once again over the feather-soft texture. It was one of the few sections of hair that was not stained with blood and mud. He stroked it hesitantly, allowing his fingertips to get tangled in the locks, as he carefully observed the sleeping body for any signs of wakefulness. He only allowed himself a moment more of weakness before forcefully snatching his hand away with a poorly concealed growl that rumbled softly in his chest. Something was strange about this boy, he could feel it in his very marrow. His interest was piqued, and his willpower was in short supply when it came to Kadaj. It was a dangerous combination.

When Sephiroth had first walked into the office, the boy had been too shocked to hide his mortification. Kadaj's face had gone white. He had risen from his chair and greeted the older man properly, before apologizing for 'the great General' having to be called upon for such a trivial matter. Had Sephiroth not been listening to Kadaj's previous conversation, even he might have been fooled by the boy's sudden change in personality and assumed he was always respectful and soft-spoken. The young man had been most accommodating, offering all the correct responses, and vehemently defending his actions without the sarcasm and disrespect that had been so inherent in his tone previously. It had become clear to Sephiroth that he did not need to earn the boy's respect; it was genuine and ran suspiciously deeper than it should have, given that it was their first introduction.

"What did he say that caused you to strike him?" the General had asked calmly, crossing the room to lean against the heavy oak desk.

"He . . ." Kadaj hesitated, already nervous about being questioned, and even more so because he was face to face with the man whose poster had been in his dorm from the time he was ten years old.

It would be humiliating to tell Sephiroth. Kadaj had swallowed, taking a breath, gritting his teeth. There wasn't any option except to lie, and since he had already told the truth to the First Ordensburgen it was too late for that. The last thing he had wanted was to be pegged as an untrustworthy liar by the one man whose acceptance and admiration he wanted. His hands had gone clammy as he considered the fact that he might have ruined any chance he had to become anything other than a troublemaker to the General. It didn't take much to get kicked out, and it took even less to be written off completely as something of little value or use. Kadaj would still be in the program in that instance, though he would be on the fringes and would be certain to never go up in the world. It angered him that things were so complicated. He wanted a world where nothing was required of him except to fight his way to the top. At least then, none of the petty decency would matter, and no one could bar him from someday becoming something of use to Sephiroth.

"He told me I was too small and feminine to serve the Jugendbund in any way besides on my knees."

Kadaj's green eyes had gone stony, and he couldn't bear to look at his General's face.

Sephiroth was torn from his recollection as Kadaj moaned softly, his arms shifting noisily in their restraints. His head moved slightly to the right, eyelashes fluttering just enough to reveal a sliver of green. The General only watched, arms crossed over his chest. The boy seemed to be breathing more unevenly, coming to from his forced rest. The eyes that were so much like the General's own, finally opened fully, blearily taking in the tall, straight-backed form. Suddenly the chains were jerked with a clang, Kadaj gasping in surprise as he snapped back into reality all too quickly, his eyes trained on the General who still had not moved or spoken. He looked like a dark specter from a nightmare looming in the corner as he was.

"Sir?"

"I take it you know why you are here?" Sephiroth asked, slowly venturing closer, the weak beams of light finally catching on his face and his glimmering, predatory eyes.

"I—"

Kadaj once again found himself at a loss for words, just as the first time they had met. In an instant, in the face of this monster of a man, he'd lost every ounce of bravado and intelligence he possessed. It was like looking upon the fallen angel Belial himself. Everything about the General was perfect, down to the silver buckles on his handmade patent boots. His hair was long and flowing, reaching well passed his waist in thick, shining layers that looked ethereal in the darkness of the room. Sephiroth's eyes were cold and unrepentant, so contrary to the rest of him. They were demon eyes, and when one looked into them, it was obvious they had seen a great many terrible things.

It was hard to tear his gaze away from those bottomless eyes, but Kadaj could not stop himself from admiring the rest of the man. Sephiroth's coat stopped just above his calves. It appeared to be thick and warm-maybe wool?-Kadaj thought offhandedly. The lapels were a bleached white, which ascended into black at the collar. Double Sig runes marked one side. There were braided, gold ropes descending down each shoulder, giving the entire ensemble an added richness of texture and color. The belt was thick and heavy, and the round buckle probably made of gold. Pressed slacks were tucked neatly into boots that nearly disappeared under the jacket. Kadaj could see the rayskin handle of a very deadly weapon peeking out just over the General's left shoulder. It was a weapon not often favored by a person of the General's caliber; it was considered to be a savage's tool, and when worn by someone high ranking in the SS or otherwise it was often nothing more than a pretty decoration that added character to the clean lines of their respectable uniforms. For Sephiroth, however, it was his preferred weapon for ethnic cleansing. If rumors were true, it had tasted a frightening amount of blood.

Sephiroth cocked his head slightly, a ghost of a smile playing at his lips.

"See something you like?" he enquired, coming even nearer. "Or perhaps you are searching for an excuse to avoid my question?" the eyes went dark at the last comment, and Kadaj shuddered almost imperceptibly in response.

"I had a fight with Echols," Kadaj answered suddenly.

The General had stopped not a foot from the table, close enough that Kadaj could see the flecks of yellow in his irises, even in the bad lighting. The man's nearness made him all too aware of his restraints. The manacles were digging into the flesh of his wrists, and his feet were bound to either corner of the other end of the tabletop. He couldn't move except to thrash, and the magnitude of the situation was beginning to dawn on him. He could smell blood, some of it fresh, some of it long since dried. Strange instruments caught in the light, glinting wickedly from every wall.

Kadaj realized that he was in something of a torture chamber. His heart had increased the speed of its rhythm, suddenly painfully fast. Even more confusing was that his head did not hurt. He should have had a splitting migraine at the very least, yet he felt fine. His face felt tight, from what must have been dried blood from before. They had healed him. But why?

Was he going to be killed? Had Echols died from his wound? Was that why the General himself had him cornered like an animal, strapped to a table? The thought gave him the urge to test the integrity of his restraints, but he resisted. Had he not always been so close to death he might have panicked. He was concerned at the very least, though strangely he found himself wondering what the General could possibly think of him, the weak youth who'd stupidly picked a fight with his instructor. He had done nothing but disobey from the moment he'd exited the caravan. His nature was his undoing. Even a stern talking to from the man himself had not been enough for Kadaj to curb his disagreeable personality. It had all been his own fault, Kadaj knew. His face burned with humiliation at that reality. Perhaps he had been healed only to make his torture last longer.

"I warned you previously about the consequences of certain actions."

"I know, sir. I didn't listen," Kadaj admitted, too ashamed to meet the unwavering, fiery gaze.

"Then you acknowledge that it is your doing? You take full responsibility?"

Kadaj turned his face away, nodding.

"I would do anything for you, Sir. My intentions weren't to disobey you, but to disobey Echols."

"I am disappointed," Sephiroth commented, his voice flat and emotionless.

Kadaj could feel his eyes burning at the corners. He forced his eyes shut, willing the feeling away. A few stray tears escaped regardless. He felt like he had failed in every way possible. It only took that one statement for him to want to crawl away and die as inconspicuously as possible. He choked on his own shortcomings, finding it hard to even breathe as the sea green eyes bore into him, piercing and unforgiving in their intensity. Kadaj hated how this man he barely knew could cause such an overwhelming reaction in him. Every ounce of self-respect he owned seemed to cower and balk as if struck.

"You have disrespected me as well as my staff. I find it hard to believe you possess any desire to please me. I gave you ample opportunity, yet you squandered it," his voice was tinged with what could have been anger. "Each of you were handpicked for this camp, as possible future members of the Jugendbund. None were chosen lightly. Yet you pick fights with students and teachers alike. I chose you against my better judgment. You would have my men doubt my decision? You would have them question my ability to select the most desirable candidates to serve in this war?"

"You-" Kadaj swallowed. "You're why I got in, sir?"

Kadaj's throat had gone dry. A cold sweat came over him almost instantaneously.

"I was told of your . . . limitations. The Board voted against you."

Sephiroth seemed to be assessing Kadaj's reaction, and his absolute stillness was alarming. Something about the General was entirely unnatural, alien, even. His eyes seemed to be the only animate part of him, emotions flicking back and forth like flames being stoked. After a moment, before Kadaj was able to digest any of it, the mask of indifference returned, blanking out even the expressive, animalistic eyes.

Was he even human? Kadaj wondered, fear eating away at his heart. If this man had felt he had wronged him, there was little he wasn't capable of. However, the sick part of Kadaj reveled in the attention, as negative as it was. He still felt as disgraced as ever, every defense torn away, allowing Sephiroth to see to his very core. How he wished it was anyone but the General to see him so weak and helpless. He realized half-heartedly that no one ever would, because Sephiroth was the only person Kadaj had ever pegged his boyish hopes and dreams upon. There wasn't a person alive that had ever been capable of making him cry from a single statement, in fact, even at his worst he had cried only from physical pain, and at that point he had been very, very young. The half-dried tears on his cheeks reminded him of his position, and his chest ached from the realization.

"But you intervened," Kadaj added softly, still finding it difficult to hold the penetrating stare.

"Was it a mistake?"

"No, sir," Kadaj answered immediately, hope springing up from somewhere deep inside of him.

"No?" It was said with a venom that made Kadaj cringe.

Suddenly the General was so close that his coat touched the table. It was almost unbearable to have him so near, as Kadaj imagined he could feel the white-hot heat emanating from the man beside him. Kadaj could not move away; the chains creaked irritably from his attempt. He felt more trapped than ever, unable to even reach down to cover up his exposed abdomen. He felt instantly small and insignificant in the face of something so much greater than himself. What was more frightening that anything though, was how much they looked alike; it was almost as though Kadaj was looking upon a slightly altered version of himself. The hair was longer, the chin and jawline more chiseled, and the nose was more defined. No image could do the General justice. He was breathtaking to the point that he was decidedly inhuman.

"You see it too, don't you?" Sephiroth asked, though it was hardly a question. "We're one and the same, somehow. I feel it. I felt it in that office when I first saw you. They tried so desperately to keep you out of the program, tried to keep you from me. I found the entire situation suspicious when I received a letter about a denied recruit, when that recruit's papers had never crossed my desk."

"What are we?" Kadaj asked, his voice so low that anyone else would have had to strain to hear it.

"Monsters?" Sephiroth smiled appreciatively at the thought. "What human do you know that can take a blow to the head powerful enough to crack bone, yet not pass out from the pain?"

Sephiroth was circling the table, as close as ever, but his intentions all the more unclear. Kadaj followed him uneasily with his eyes.

"What creature do you know that willingly will walk to its death, if only for the fight? It is against nature itself. Humans cower at such a suggestion."

Sephiroth had removed his officer's cap, placing it beside Kadaj's restrained form.

"It's the same reason why you haven't yet asked me what I am planning to do to you."

Kadaj's hands clenched in his chains as he considered the implications of those words.


	3. Look At the Past and All You Ever Knew

A/N: Thanks to FierceBeautifulOriginal, Dame Nosferatu, Jill, SSGA, and Dea Noctis for reviewing! This chapter is fairly graphic, so definitely not for the squeamish. This is not the ending either, though it almost sounds like it. And again, special thanks to Dea Noctis for enduring all my doubting; you're amazingly kind. All errors are my own.

* * *

When a cold hand descended on part of his exposed abdomen, Kadaj flinched unintentionally, entirely caught off guard by the unexpected physical contact. His pulse had quickened considerably, and he was sure it was visible under the thin layer of skin at his throat. The term 'monster' kept flitting through his consciousness as he discreetly eyed all the instruments of torture that lined the walls. His imagination was more than capable of coming up with a few painful scenarios that most certainly would not end well for him. It wasn't as though there was a lack of tools for the creative General to choose from.

"Am I your son?" he asked with trepidation, as thin, pale fingers worked between the mud-covered buttons of his shirt.

There was a laugh, short but surprisingly genuine, and edged with a madness that made the boy tense up considerably. It was the laugh of a madman. He had heard the same sound from Hojo more times than he cared to recall, and the realization frightened him. Hojo's laugh was high-pitched and grating, where as the General's was low and seductive. As dangerous as its implications were, Kadaj found some part of him desired to hear more of it regardless.

"Hardly. I am incapable of producing progeny."

For some reason, Kadaj felt relief flood over him, though it was very short-lived.

"The Runes?" Kadaj deduced, swallowing the fear that was beginning to pool in his gut as Sephiroth's agile fingers eventually worked open every button down to where his shirt met his pants.

"It is very likely. The decay that originates from them is similar to radioactivity, but notably different. I was exposed from a very young age, and though it was beneficial to me, it did have a few very . . . negative side effects."

Sephiroth did not elaborate further, and the boy found himself surprised that the man had answered at all. Fingernails scraped over the sensitive skin of Kadaj's stomach as the tattered shirt was methodically pulled away. He held his breath unconsciously, a strange wave of heat washing over his lower body that was not entirely foreign to him. He tried to ignore the sensation.

"Am I going to be punished for what I've done?" he questioned finally.

He found himself less troubled by his current situation than he probably should have been.

"Do you think you deserve it?"

Sephiroth had stopped his ministrations, observing the boy carefully. The General was still in that unnatural way again, as though everything in the world had stopped for the boy to give his answer. Kadaj once again looked away, so ashamed to meet the calculating look. He took a few steadying breaths. He thought about the ramifications of his response, wishing there was an easy answer for everything. His eyes fell to the hat, transfixed on the ever-proud iron eagle. Somehow the thought of ending at Sephiroth's hands was more comforting than anything; it meant he was worthy of the attention. He could have been dispatched quickly by any crony, but the General was doing it himself. He was worthy of that, at least. The reality that it was his betrayal that had landed him on the table, stung deeply. He had never intended to do anything against Sephiroth, not ever. It was against his very being to hurt him. If only he hadn't been so foolish, so quick to the trigger . . .

He responded finally, the self-loathing burning in his throat feeling heavy and alien to him: "I do. I deserve whatever punishment you think I should get. I betrayed you."

Admitting it caused grief to snake around his heart, coiling with a cruelty that no physical wound could ever duplicate. It physically ached to breathe, and his eyes began to water yet again, much to his mortification. Kadaj did not cry, even in the most dire of circumstances, but yet again he found himself on the brink of tears. He still had no idea why he felt so inextricably linked to the General. Were they one and the same? Pieces of the same whole? Or was their resemblance to one another nothing more than a miraculous coincidence? How could he possibly be even a fraction of what Sephiroth was? He could not even force himself to manipulate his silver tongue for a single day, let alone get others to respect him with scarcely more than a glance. He wasn't even strong enough to take on a drill sergeant without being nearly killed.

Kadaj's usual bravado and arrogance were non-existent when it came to the General. He acknowledged his submissiveness and inferiority to the man, willingly, which he would have never dreamed possible. Pride was often the only reason Kadaj had survived what he had. He had known from his first day that he was not simply a 'specimen', he was special, different, and he would do what he had to prove it. But what did any of that matter to Sephiroth? To the General he was nothing more than a weakling who had openly betrayed him, connection or not.

Sephiroth didn't answer. He moved away from the table with little ceremony, disappearing from Kadaj's view entirely. There was the sound of metal clinking together, and a rustling of some kind of fabric. Kadaj stiffened in his chains, willing himself to be resigned to his fate, trying to stop his overactive heart from pumping the seeds of doubt and fear straight to his head in panicked, heated waves. He wondered how long he would be alive before he died from blood loss. There were rumors that Sephiroth himself had been the one to pry most of the useful information out of the Wutai who had been unlucky enough to be captured. It would take hours, if not days; the man was well-versed in the human body, of that Kadaj had no doubt. He would have to have some knowledge of anatomy in order to prolong the miserable lives of those to be punished. Though Kadaj's betrayal was not quite so severe as those who had refused to be detained, disobedience was not tolerated. The boys who could not keep up for the first exercise of the day were proof enough of the seriousness that weakness was dealt with.

There was a clang as Sephiroth selected a tool. Kadaj felt the back of his neck prickle. It was with notable detachment that the General approached the table again. He held a long, blood-encrusted blade, rusted at the handle from years of mistreatment. The metal was chipped in places, likely from repeatedly being forced into bone. Maybe, Kadaj reasoned, fear making his heart palpitate, it wouldn't take as long as he had expected. He should have had the desire to run, should have fought to free himself, but strangely he remained absolutely still in his restraints. Was his desire to be loyal stronger than his will to survive? All the doubts that had plagued him in his early days in the labs came rushing back to him. What had he ever done that was worth anything anyway? Hadn't he failed at the one goal he had strived to achieve? That was enough for him to almost ache for the blade, however, the thought made the smallest bit of child left in him cower and disappear to some corner of his mind, cries fading as it fled. Was he so sick? Was he sick enough to die for this man he had pledged himself to blindly? Was he going to die for any good reason at all?

"If you were unchained, would you fight to stop me?" Sephiroth questioned, seemingly reading the boy's thoughts.

Suddenly the thirsty edge of the battered knife was pressing lightly into the center of Kadaj's chest.

"I don't know," he admitted, his breathing more rapid than ever. He would never beg for his life; that at least he was above. But his own lack of action frightened and confused him.

Kadaj took his next breath in a hiss, the blade biting into the pale skin of his sternum slowly and methodically. Sephiroth made a line halfway down the youth's chest unhurriedly, his expression impassive, but his eyes chillingly alive. The blade stopped with a messy scrape, then was withdrawn. Kadaj's rough tumble on the ground had left him covered in patches of bruised flesh, further complimented by the angry red line dotted with blood from Sephiroth's recent attention. The wound burned from its newness. Cool fingers traced over the split skin, making Kadaj shiver from the gentleness of the touch. He turned his face away, feeling ashamed of his reaction. However, just a few soft strokes were enough to make the pain abate considerably.

"You would not fight for your life?" he commented quietly, breath ghosting against Kadaj's skin. "It should be an easy answer, yet it isn't. You want me to appreciate you, even if it is nothing more than a move to destroy you."

Kadaj could only stare at the older man partially in horror at the truth of the statement, and somewhat relieved that it had been spoken aloud. It finally made a perverted sense.

"How do you know? How can you know any of it?"

Sephiroth only smiled at him, head bowed slightly. Strands of silver were trailing across Kadaj's chest, making his body react in ways it shouldn't. He repressed another shiver as a lock tantalizingly tickled at a pectoral muscle from Sephiroth tilting his head.

"You came here for me, not the cause. I should have you disemboweled," The General stated calmly.

The man leaned closer, his heat making Kadaj traitorously wish he wasn't confined by chains. Their faces were inches from one another's. The knife was worrying at his chest again, but Kadaj could not manage to look away from the General. It was almost too much to take having him so close. He wanted more than anything to be touched, even the simplest of caresses would have soothed every wound, both physical and mental. It was hard to think when there was no escape from the penetrating stare except the dark refuge behind his eyelids. But how could he possibly look away?

"Your curiosity is your undoing, as it is mine. They didn't want me to have you, and whatever it takes, I will discover why."

Kadaj let out a strangled moan, hating himself for it, as Sephiroth's tongue gently followed the fresh wound, tasting it with a relish and possessiveness that left him breathless. Nails bit into his sides, as hungry as the knife had been only a moment before. He held back a whimper as the nails raked over his ribcage, any pretense of gentleness gone.

"I-I don't understand," Kadaj breathed shakily, pulling uselessly at his chains in a bid to get closer to the source of pleasure.

Sephiroth's languid voice vibrated against Kadaj's skin as he spoke: "There is little to understand. Feel, and that will be enough to earn my favor. For now."

The knife was back to the first cut again, following its track with a painful precision. Kadaj gritted his teeth, but resisted making any other acknowledgement of his pain, even as his body urged him to thrash in his chains. He didn't understand. Sephiroth wasn't making any sense. Was this all part of the torture? Was this all to make him let his guard down? Why did it have to feel so good? If this was the torture he had been awaiting, he would accept it gladly.

Then, without warning, Sephiroth's mouth was on his own, tasting of blood and anger and lust. It was more of a bite than a kiss, and Kadaj did everything in his power to be as receptive as he possibly could be without returning it. He was terrified that it would wake the General from his daze, that suddenly he would have a knife imbedded deep in his chest while the man loomed over him, worshiping his very blood as the life drained steadily out of him in a pulsing stream. Somehow though, part of Kadaj found the thought to be more of a fantasy than something worthy of dread. It all seemed terribly unreal, and the part of him that had secretly wished for such treatment all his short life, could barely accept it as reality. He would wake any second, sheets sticky and catching on his naked skin. No reality could bring him such happiness and pleasure; life was nothing but pain and suffering.

In a swift movement, Sephiroth was straddling him on the table. The youth felt his heart race to insane new heights. He was in denial, even as silver hair cascaded over his chest and a warm, demanding mouth found the base of his throat, nipping upward until it discovered his frantic pulse. Finally, he could no longer hold in a quiet groan of pleasure. He almost felt as though he was being fed upon by some kind of predator, as Sephiroth repeatedly dragged the tired blade across the few sections of his upper body that weren't covered in bruises, mouth distracting and delicious all the while. The thought made him cringe, as he realized that he was allowing it all to happen. Had he not been chained, he knew that it was unlikely things would have taken any other turn. Sephiroth was not one to be denied.

Violently, the General tore at one of the chains at the boy's wrist, ripping it away from the hinge in one horrible creak of protesting metal. It dropped to the ground loudly, deafening in the silence that was punctuated only by heavy breathing and reluctant sounds of enjoyment. Kadaj's wrist was still manacled, however he could move his arm freely. He swallowed nervously, unsure as to what to do. He hated himself for becoming so useless in such a short time, but his body seemed intent on betraying him. He let his free hand wander near the older man, but he couldn't bring himself to press it to his coat just then.

"I don't understand, but I just want you to be pleased with me," Kadaj murmured.

Sephiroth had pulled away slightly, his impassive expression hinting at the barest of a smile. Was that what the General had wanted to hear? Kadaj had so many questions, but again he found himself frozen in place, terrified the frightening illusion would shatter into a million pieces from his amateurish prodding. Death licked at the reddish droplets that had stained the delicate creases of his lips.

"Give me everything," Sephiroth commanded. "And perhaps then I will grant you the forgiveness you seek."

"Anything," Kadaj responded automatically, his heart knowing the answer long before his mind did.

He wanted forgiveness more than anything, but he could hardly remember what he wanted to be forgiven for as Sephiroth kissed and bit a steady path toward the placket of his mud-caked trousers. He still didn't understand what was happening, and he didn't care. He abandoned himself to the feeling as his General had ordered him. He was terrified and nervous and shuddering, clamping his teeth together to avoid being overly noisy. He had an idea of where Sephiroth was going, and his young body was acting accordingly, innocent to the sensation as it was. His pants felt horribly constrictive, and as one pale hand smoothed over the growing bulge, he bucked toward it, his feet restricted by their chains.

Quickly, long-fingered hands undid his pants, then forcefully pulled them down his narrow thighs hard enough to hurt. Kadaj was quivering with desire, half afraid, half fascinated. Just the friction of his slacks was enough to make him reach out for Sephiroth, even just to place a hand on the wool-covered arm that was closest to him. It wasn't much, but he found himself elated when the General made no move to reprimand him.

Kadaj felt himself redden as Sephiroth wasted no time pulling down his military-issue briefs, which were already spotted from his excitement. They were bundled just above his slacks, leaving him fully exposed from the genitals upward. How was this even happening? Kadaj was holding his breath, almost too embarrassed to be so stripped bare in front of the one person he had long revered above any god. If it had been any other, he wouldn't have been the least bit shy of his body, but like all other things, he could not control himself when it came to Sephiroth.

"Has anyone touched you before?"

Kadaj looked away, shaking his head, avoiding the older man's gaze.

"Not at all?" Sephiroth seemed interested in that particular point, his eyes assessing the younger man's every expression.

"No, never," Kadaj said, finally meeting the unwavering gaze. "Though a few tried."

"And?"

"You've heard about my disciplinary problems," he responded quietly, for once looking repentant.

He barely had an opportunity to analyze the questions, as his entire length was lost to the slick heat of Sephiroth's mouth. There had been absolutely no warning of any kind. Fingernails found his thighs, gripping painfully tight and possessively much like before, as though he was something owned. Kadaj threw his head back, utterly lost in whatever was happening. He couldn't even process it. He should have been ashamed and nervous to be so bare, to do something so intimate, but everything fell away in a flood of feeling, all thoughts suspended.

Sephiroth was harsh but satisfying, bringing just enough pain to no override the beauty of heat and friction. When Kadaj finally managed to look, he could hardly bear it. Sephiroth was everything to him—it became so clear in that moment-it was everything he had ever wanted. Something about the General was so mind-numbingly right that he could feel it in his very being. Every move of his warm, inviting mouth made Kadaj writhe and gasp, his chains nothing more than barriers to his pursuit of pleasure. He fought them wildly, unwittingly forcing his way deeper into Sephiroth's throat. There was a growl that reverberated from somewhere inside the older man's chest, making Kadaj's blood sing. A strong hand violently made his bare ass connect painfully with the hard, splintered tabletop. Kadaj suppressed a groan of pain, his tailbone throbbing almost rhythmically with the measured pace of Sephiroth's lips. But even that rebuke was not enough to chase away the exquisite pleasure that was snaking its way through most of his lower body.

Kadaj himself was surprised by his own behavior. The General's warning had been enough for his mind, but his body was fighting to disobey, too lost in the liquid heat that was so easily attainable. Something was starting to build at the base of his spine, making his muscles tense pleasurably.

He knew it wouldn't take long.

Just as some sort of dark oblivion of feeling began to approach, Sephiroth withdrew, leaving Kadaj shuddering and fighting for breath only a moment later. Kadaj had to ignore his desire to beg for completion in the instant onslaught of physical and mental weakness. Every muscle seemed poised for what hadn't come. He could feel the dull ache of release denied, his veins throbbing with the increased, maddening flow of blood. He had tried to sit up enough to see Sephiroth, but he was mostly concealed by the darkness of the room which had lost most of its light to the fall of night.

"Did I do something wrong?" he questioned in the silence, a feeling of cold dread overcoming him.

Sephiroth leaned over him, enough that his long hair stuck to the drying blood on his chest. With a clang, the other restrain was torn free. His wrists were heavy and clumsy from the weight of the chains, however he was simply glad to be able to move freely.

"Finish," Sephiroth commanded coldly, roughly taking one of Kadaj's hands and dropping it in the boy's lap with no further explanation.

Had it been anyone else, Kadaj would have argued, pride too sharpened to endure such treatment, but he could see the hard glint in the General's eyes, and he thought better of it. He had no idea what he had done to be rejected so swiftly. That knot was forming in his throat again. Maybe the General was disgusted by him, and having to ingest anything that came from him made him sickened. There were people Kadaj could think of that would have reviled him in such a way. The thought made him blanch. He tried to ignore the returning wave of humiliation.

Nervously, Kadaj palmed his erection, ignoring the discomfort of the table digging into his bare ass. He could feel the splinters pushing into his sensitive skin from the slightest movement. Sephiroth was not looking away, in fact, he was focusing on his charge intently. Kadaj found it hard to concentrate, forcing himself to watch the General's perfect face and think of nothing else. He tried to disregard the ropes of shame that were coiling mercilessly around his chest. How could one person make him feel so many things at once? He felt he had to comply, and it was becoming less and less difficult as he found himself using the man in front of him as inspiration. For once, the Sephiroth he was using wasn't on a crumpled poster, but the true, flesh and blood man.

His hand was sticky from his own excitement, and he wondered fleetingly if the General could smell the musky scent as well as he could. When a hand went to his hair, Kadaj moaned, incapable of holding it back. Sephiroth pulled hard enough that he was forced to look at the ceiling, all the rotted, blackened slats. The hand was fisting his hair, and strangely enough he found it erotic. The harder Sephiroth pulled, the more he was forced to arch to meet the demand. He could feel the deeper wound on his chest begin to leak, the clotted blood not strong enough to endure the tension and staunch the flow any longer.

When Kadaj felt teeth nip at the cuts, he found himself stroking faster. A curious tongue lapped at the new blood, ravenous once again. Kadaj knew he was probably being too noisy, but he couldn't hold it back anymore, no matter how hard he fought to choke it down. Another strong hand had found his hip, squeezing at it painfully. Sephiroth was drinking from his wounds, holding him so tightly that it was difficult to breathe, which was making his body react all the faster. The General's coat was rubbing scratchily against his naked flesh, driving him positively mad.

Everything was tensed from the awkward pose he had been forced into, and suddenly every pain was instantly pleasure as he went even more impossibly taut. He cried out, feeling Sephiroth's mouth bite down so hard that it should have been agonizing, but instead made his release all the sweeter. Everything converged in a wave, making him go light-headed for a moment, lost in a perfect daze for several blissful seconds. Kadaj could feel hot breath tickling at his neck as his body began to go slack. Sephiroth was holding him upright, one hand still gripped possessively in his matted hair. Kadaj stared up at him, breathing heavily, his lips slightly parted. They watched one another, neither speaking.

Later, Kadaj would swear the look Sephiroth gave him was both protective and caring, but whatever it had been, the General pulled away from him quickly, eyes sweeping over the results of Kadaj's labors, which had made the boy's hand and lower stomach glisten tantalizingly. A few thick droplets had stuck to the wool of the General's coat. He moved away from the table without ceremony, leaving Kadaj feeling instantly cold from the loss of contact. The man wiped at the unwanted stain with a filthy rag, then discarded it with the others in the corner, before straightening his jacket.

For a fleeting moment, Kadaj considered making some sort of attempt to keep the General's attention, to finish what had been started, but the look on the man's face was enough to quell his thoughts. Sephiroth didn't want anything from him; he'd gotten it. Strangely, it had been Kadaj who got pleasure out of the arrangement, but somehow he knew Sephiroth was going to be the one to walk away more satisfied, even if his body's physical needs had not been met.

"You're to obey all those above you. You will not start fights. You will not speak unless spoken to. You are to stay far away from this room and from Hojo, the scientist you will often see wandering the grounds. You are not to befriend your fellow Jugendbund members. Is that all understood?"

With a deft movement that made Kadaj flinch, Sephiroth tossed a ring of keys onto the table heavily.

"You are not to speak of what happened here. You aren't allowed to approach me or talk to me unless it is unavoidable. You are to finish your courses to the best of your abilities. When you complete your training you will be sent to me. It is likely that many will try to impede your progress, but you must overcome whatever obstacles they put in your way. They are against you. They want you to fail," the General said with conviction, pulling on his leather gloves with an elegance that belied the deadliness of his hands.

"And if it is asked, you were punished severely for killing Echols."

Kadaj frowned at that statement, already taken aback by everything the man in front of him was saying.

"He's dead? I killed him?" Kadaj breathed, wracking his mind for the snippets of memory that had managed to stay with him from between the fight and being on the table.

All he recalled were bright lights, soft voices, a strange eclipse of warmth and pain . . .

"Yes. Didn't you hear? You stabbed him in the throat in the infirmary," Sephiroth stated emotionlessly, though something flickered in his eyes.

Comprehension dawned quickly, and Kadaj only nodded, though he could hardly understand what had happened. The General was letting him off? He wasn't going to be killed or tortured?

"You are part of me." The General seemed to sense his confusion, "I would as soon allow them to destroy me as you."

"How can you be so sure we're the same?"

It seemed foolish to argue when he might be completely forgiven for his insolence, but Kadaj's doubts were too strong to ignore.

"You can't tell me you don't sense it; it's blatant enough on the surface," Sephiroth said, adjusting his officer's cap. "Very few people are aware, but I never completed my Jugendbund training in my youth."

"You killed your drill sergeant?" Kadaj asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Something of that nature," Sephiroth responded darkly.

Kadaj laughed quietly to himself, somehow finding their strange parallels, no matter how gruesome they might be, funny.

The General seemed to be turning to go, but Kadaj's young voice halted him. "You don't hate me, then?" he questioned, feeling stupid for having to ask.

Kadaj waited impatiently, breathing hitching. The General seemed to contemplate his answer, eyes breaking contact with the youth's momentarily before returning to the young face again.

"I expect you to do better. Part of being here is learning to deal with others, and being able to both give and take orders. You are different Kadaj, but you must never reveal that to them as you so foolishly did today."

"Will you show me? Will you teach me how to be like you?" Kadaj asked quietly.

"In time," Sephiroth responded.

The General's gaze lingered for a moment, taking in the younger version of himself that was nude on the table, pale skin stained with his own blood. The nose was a little less defined, the eyelashes a shade too dark, but the resemblance was there all the same, both in body and spirit.

Hojo and the others had been stupid to think they could keep such a secret out in the open as they had. Whether Kadaj was a clone or merely an assimilation of some of his own traits, Sephiroth could not be sure, however they had chanced upon one another regardless. It almost made him believe in fate, but he knew better. Something in his very blood called to the dark, outspoken child. And the boy had come to his master like a moth to a flame, oblivious of the burn.

Kadaj was Sephiroth's through and through, and there wasn't a damn thing anyone could do to change it.


End file.
